


Honey

by earliegrey



Series: smokescreen and sins [3]
Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: M/M, Yakuza/Spy AU, pathetic attempt at pwp, use of aphrodisiac of some sort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-25
Updated: 2014-06-25
Packaged: 2018-02-06 02:29:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1841011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/earliegrey/pseuds/earliegrey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Aomine's a Yakuza, Kagami's an undercover cop whose cover is blown.  Kagami's drugged up and Aomine is conveniently there.</p><p>(Or the alternative summary: Kagami doesn't know what he wants, Aomine has one thing on his mind.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Honey

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! ^q^ Earlie here~ This is my penname for this site because I'm shy and it's really embarrassing being linked to my actual..penname. (I can't believe my first submission is a sort-of pwp...)
> 
> A-Anywys, this is my first fanfiction for AoKaga, so please be kind! Initially I wrote this for a meme on tumblr, and since I wanted to expand more on it, here it is.;; It should have been a pwp to be honest...I don't know what happened.
> 
> The prompt was Yakuza/Spy AU; so please think of them somewhere in their late-twenties to thirties. If the characters are ooc, please forgive me since it's my first time writing them. :D;; Writing isn't my forte and this is also self-beta'd, so excuse the mistakes please!

The itch starts about ten minutes after he wakes up to a sharp prick in his arm; it’s thin but Midorima has cut through his dress shirt and into a nerve.

His breath hitches when the cold shock of the thin scalpel moves and presses close to his jugular; he jerks in the ropes binding and chafing around his wrist, and even that is too much for him.

Though Midorima’s mouth is set in a thin frown, his eyes shine with some sick pleasure at the spot of red oozing from Kagami’s arm.

 _You bastard, asshole,_ _fucking shit—_ Kagami bites down on his lip, breath coming up short and shallow. There are frequent bursts of heat that trickle down his spine and branches to the tip of his toes—and it clicks in his mind that something is _wrong_.

“Aomine, I’m warning you,” Midorima says, gaze unwavering and the scalpel circles his adam’s apple, it’s light but the prick shreds down his throat and pools in his gut. It _shouldn’t_ feel good but it does. “You’ve let your pet cat run around far too freely.”

Midorima sneers and the blade twists the slightest into Kagami’s neck. “Your little undercover cop has been causing too much trouble—interfered in the last exchange and even killed our middleman.”

 _They found out,_ Kagami thinks, panicked, but tries to keep his breathing even; his gaze flickers toward the figure near the corner of the European room. 

Dressed in a slick black suit, and not the least fazed, Aomine smiles as he strolls, effortlessly, closer. “Send my _deepest_ apologies to Akashi; I didn’t expect things to have gone this far.”

It's fake professionalism coated with layers and _layers_ of sarcasm. If Kagami didn't have a blade near his neck, he would've laughed. 

“Five _million_ , Aomine,” Midorima says, and the scalpel cuts deeper, bright red beads along the edge. Kagami’s pulse is erratic and there’s a thrum in the base of his neck; he doesn't swallow. 

“He must’ve slipped from my watch,” Aomine drawls, lazily with a sickening, sweet grin to match, but his fingers curl around the sheath once, and then taps the handle of his sword as some kind of idle gesture. “I assure you, I won’t let it happen again.”

Midorima catches on, he’s not stupid. He clicks his tongue. “...well then.”

The scalpel withdraws and Kagami doesn't dare breathe a sigh of relief as Midorima drifts back. He deposits the instrument into the breast pocket of his doctor’s coat, just as he opens the door. “As his trainer, please see to it that your pet receives discipline for his ill behavior.”

There are cold fingers gripping Kagami’s injured arm and Kagami hisses at the touch, jerking his eyes up to meet Aomine’s with a glare.

The electricity bolting through his veins hurts more than his arm when Aomine grins at him, all teeth and sharp edges, and he doesn’t know why but the fever _spreads_ — ”Of course.”

The heavy door slams shut, and the room feels a lot smaller, a lot more suffocating, much _hotter_ and then— Aomine lets him go.

“Bastard,” Kagami spits. The room spins on its axis and he drops his head back against the cushion, wincing when his head throbs at the contact. He breathes deeply through his nose. “How long...”

“A month after you joined,” Aomine says with a deep sigh, and Kagami is hyper aware of how Aomine is leaning closer, and how he smells nice, like clean cut grass and citrus. He tsks as he brushes back Kagami’s bangs, crusted with hints of blood. _Cheh, they weren’t kidding about the bats,_ he says under his breath with a scowl.

“Hah...it was that quickly...?” Kagami asks, voice hoarse, and he squeezes his eyes shut as the tingle in his chest flares up and seizes his body. His skin burn for a few seconds and he fights the urge to lean into Aomine’s hand—then a chill floods his veins, down his fingertips, and he suppresses a moan.

 “You weren't being very discreet, Bakagami.” Aomine presses his bandaged, callused fingers against his jaw and then lightly at his swollen cheek.  Kagami sucks in a breath; the bruises are two hours fresh and the bones are over-sensitive, his skin flares and aches.  “Look what they did to your stupid face. Did you say anything?”

 “Over my dead body,” Kagami laughs, or would have laughed if he wasn't trying to gasp for air and fight the throb wrecking his body. “I may or may not have told them to fuck off though.”

 “Good kitty,” Aomine smirks and thumbs the corner of his mouth and Kagami is tempted to bite his finger off, if it isn't for the painful prickle at the proximity and the heat churning in his gut.

(Kagami suddenly thinks of Aomine’s hot body flushed against his, suit shredded down to his elbows and slowly, thoroughly melting Kagami into a hot mess, and—)

Aomine _laughs_ , silky smooth and something affectionate; he threads fingers carefully into his hair, the touch is subtle, raking softly at his scalp. Kagami’s brain short-circuits. “I trained you well, didn’t I? Though a shame they marked up your pretty, white skin.” 

“Shut up and get me out of these things,” Kagami manages, and he can’t breathe anymore, not when Aomine sinks his knee into the red velvet next to Kagami, and leans over him—smelling so _good_ like musk and—

“Of course, kitten.”

_This isn’t good._

”Five million, though,” he says. “Akashi is probably shitting himself; it’s the first failed exchange that’ll reach _Father’s_ ears. You’re either fucking stupid, or brilliant.”

“Just—” Kagami _shudders_ when Aomine touches his wrist, casual and fleeting. “-sending a message; it was orders. Though, maybe I should’ve cleaned up a bit.”

“Hah, and only now you think of it. I had to clean up after your ass, you know.” Kagami sees Aomine lick his lips, eyes concentrated on the tight knot on the ropes, fingers tugging and pulling at it. “... _Discipline_ sounds kinky, though. What should I do to a bad kitty?”

“Fuck off,” Kagami says, taking a deep breath, and he hears Aomine laugh, quietly— _yeah, yeah—_ the sounds makes him nearly groan—Aomine’s too close and it’s too hot, his lungs feels like it’ll explode—- _Kagami needs to get out._

The ropes are undone, but Aomine pauses, breath hovering near Kagami’s temple.  “...Ah? You’re sweating,”

“No shit,” Kagami says, teeth clenched. He shoves Aomine away, palms flat against his chest. His wrist hurts and so does his bones, but it’s the dizzying heat that throbs the most, and Kagami _needs_ — warm skin on skin, hands on his body and petting it down— but he swallows thickly and pretends he doesn’t. 

“It’s fucking hot here, get off.”

“But the windows are open—?” Aomine starts and Kagami wants nothing but to raise his leg and slam Aomine in his family jewels then and there to _get off_ because he’s only going to say it once, before he grabs Aomine and fucks him into the coach— _no, Kagami_ , bad idea.

“Unless…”

Aomine stares, Kagami looks away and trains his eyes on the open window with a red ornate curtain fluttering in the summer breeze. (But it doesn’t change the fact that it’s still fucking hot.)

“So, what now? They know that I know that they know and I know—...fuck this, I don’t even—” Kagami rambles, breath short and hard; he tries to feign normalcy and squashes the _need_ to have Aomine on him, in him, and do whatever the talented things he can do with his tongue.

(It’s not the first time they’ve fucked but Kagami _really_ doesn’t want there to be another—fucking a yakuza is _weird_ as shit. Even if he’s a double-agent, he’s still a yakuza—though, a rather hot one with old knife and bullet wounds, and uneven ridges dappling his amber skin—but still _yakuza_.

Kagami tells himself that, hoping one day he'll believe it.)

“Are they going to kill me over this? Are _you_ supposed to kill me now or—”

A hand grabs his chin and Aomine’s dark eyes are studying him, mapping out his face. “...They gave you something, To loosen your tongue.”

He lets his breath out rather too quickly, and turns away, resting on his side; he feels every bone and muscle in his body scream. “Yeah, what about it?”

“ _What_ did they give you? A pill or something else?” Aomine says, voice quiet and tense, and there’s a weight behind his tone—a protective growl—that’s enough to make Kagami weak in the knees and whimper at the sound. He feels a cool hand on his forehead. “Shit, you’re burning up—”

Aomine really needs to _shut up_.

“Did they—”

He pulls Aomine down by the lapels of his suit and kisses him hard, mouth open and pliant against his. For a second, Aomine freezes with confusion before he easily slides his tongue against  Kagami’s mouth. He lightly suckles on his tongue, as his hands wander to the small of his back.

When Aomine massages a thumb down his spine, Kagami gasps and breaks away, breath frayed and raw. “It’s...something…”

“...something in a bottle. Liquid,” Kagami says vaguely and licks into Aomine’s mouth before trailing his lips against his defined jaw.

He growls, far-gone and not entirely there, and shoves Aomine back into the couch, straddling his hips (the stupid sword is in the way, as always), hands grabbing wherever he could for purchase, and planting kisses on whatever patch of skin that he can find. “Don’t remember. _God_ , you smell nice, so fucking good. What the hell do you put on—”

“Yeah...it’s definitely that,” Aomine sighs, and he rakes his hand through his hair like he’s got a migraine—Kagami huffs at that and (tries to) make quick work of Aomine’s stupid tie, but it won’t budge. “Wish they stopped doing that.”

“The hell are you on about,” Kagami breathes, hot and heavy, and fuck the tie, a shirt is easier to unbutton. Aomine watches him with a light smirk when Kagami swears and fumbles, fingers slipping around buttons— “Your shirt, fuck your shirt.”

“Mystery cocktail,” Aomine answers, and he unbuckles his sword from his belt. He takes his tie off—first with a firm yank and then a fluid pull. His jacket creases and wrinkles to his muscled forearm—the suit, Kagami thinks, _really_ fits him. “They have all sorts; put extra pills in a blender, mix it with some water, and cheers. Consider yourself lucky it’s not the fakes.”

It’s agonizingly slow, the way Aomine strips— he leans forward just a bit, and his shirt stretches over tight muscles as he peels away his jacket, and soon after, it’s tossed aside into a crumpled heap along with his blue silk tie,  eighty grand Italian suit be damned.

“You’re not hurting anywhere, are you.” He spreads Kagami’s legs around his lap, firm hands massaging into his thighs; Kagami hisses at the contact, hands twisting into his shirt— _stupid shirt._

“Aside from being fucked up in the head and getting beaten in the face, I don’t think anything’s wrong with me, wise shit.” Kagami mumbles into his neck and bites at his throat, before tonguing the expanse of warm skin from his jaw to his collarbone.

“You’re fucking horny, though,” Aomine says, untucking Kagami's rumpled shirt, and Kagami jumps when cold hands settle around his waist, giving it a light squeeze. “I thought you hated sex with me since the brothel hit, or are you going back on your words now?”

(The memory creeps into the haze of his mind—the messy kill of a former business ally, the leftover adrenaline and empty room, and the way how he crushed Aomine into a wall and kissed him hard; and how in the blinding heat of sex, Aomine dropped a kiss on his neck and did something _different—_ )

“Shut it. I’m drugged up and you’re here.”

Kagami pulls at Aomine’s shirt, lips desperate to sink lower than his collarbones. He feels the rumble of Aomine’s laughter, low and dangerous. 

“Hey, don’t ruin it, I just bought it yesterday,” Aomine says, and kisses a line up the curve of Kagami’s neck and _god_ , light kisses shouldn’t feel _this_ good but they do, and Kagami forgets about stupid buttons to shirts, and the sharp collarbones that he wants to mark up.

“You had a new shirt last week too,” Kagami says, breathless, and he lets Aomine undress him, buttons being undone, hands sliding up his torso, edging away his dress shirt. Aomine fondles the swells and pool of bruises along his ribs with a frown on his lips. Kagami’s jerks and he grinds down, hand bracing the back of the couch when Aomine’s mouth is hot on his chest, _doing things_. _“Fuck—”_

“Some asshole decided to shoot himself in the brain when I was close by,” he murmurs, and Kagami whimpers a little because _there_ , Aomine licks a wet trail around his pecs and then sucks his nipple. “Had brain and blood all over my suit. Fucking shame. You liked that shirt.”

“Don’t be so full of yourself, ass,” he scoffs. (But Aomine isn’t lying, Kagami did like how it clenched around his arms and stretched around the girth of his toned torso, _but Aomine doesn’t need to know that._ )

“Huh, thought you did since you were checking me out every chance you got.”

“Yeah? You’re not the only hot piece of ass here.”

“You’re right,” Aomine says. “You are too.”

His voice is like gravel, his breath and mouth scorching on Kagami’s skin. It’s slow and aching, and Kagami _wants_ more but Aomine’s hands are on his legs, the back of his thighs, lightly squeezing his ass, even dipping a bit to thumb his balls—but he’s touching everywhere except where he’s painfully hard and constrained.

“ _Aomine_ ,” he growls, digging nails into his shoulder under a bruising pressure and swallowing a breathy gasp when Aomine’s teeth graze his collarbones and nips at his neck. “Come on already—”

“Patience,” Aomine says and he feels the curve of his smile against the pulse in his neck—he's _mocking_ him. Kagami opens his mouth to cuss, but then Aomine's hands trace over his belt buckle before palming the front of his dress pants. Kagami chokes back a whine. “Good boy, that's right."

Aomine bites his neck a little before kissing him on his lips; it's slow and sensual, it's fucking _sweet—_ and Aomine's intent is clear as day as he slides Kagami's shirt down his shoulders and off to join the puddle of clothes on the floor.

(And this isn’t _fucking_ anymore; it’s something reminiscent to the incident at the brothel, when Aomine’s buried deep in him, planting hot, wet kisses only to pull back and say, earnestly, _“Taiga, I—”_ )

Kagami shudders and his skin goes cold at the thought—the memory—but reignites when Aomine touches him again.

His hands are warm, big, and rough with dirty bandages wrapped around each finger and he smooths his palm over his bruises and every touch soothes as much as it burns.

(Kagami’s only letting Aomine touch him because he needs someone to fuck, that’s all. There’s nothing else to it. And that's what he tells himself.)

"Light butter," he says and kisses along Kagami's stomach, licks and nibbles at the faded scars on his side. "Touch of vanilla, delicious...I could eat you up."

“Then hurry the hell up and please do,” Kagami snaps, impatient. He hates this, how slow it is when it’s obvious he _needs_ so much.

“I will.”

Kagami yelps when he’s thrown on his back, and he swears about ten (already broken, maybe) bones snap in half when he hits the red velvet.

“At least give me a warning, bastard— _ah—_ ”

Aomine bites his hips, then trails his tongue down the contours of his abs—Kagami swears loudly, hips bucking but held down in place because Aomine’s breath is _so fucking close, being such a tease, fuck you Aomine, fuck, oh god, oh god—_

Aomine dips his hand past the waistband of his boxers and gives his cock a light squeeze and Kagami nearly comes then and there, body convulsing because it’s good, feels so good— “Let it out; it's okay,” Aomine says, as he pulls his cock with long, even strokes, firm pressure with the barest hint of blunt nails.

“Aomine, god, I really—” he gasps, choking and he grabs Aomine’s shoulders.

“Need to come?”

Kagami doesn’t say anything but swallows a deep moan; his eyes prickle with wetness. God, he’s so close, and it hurts so much, but he doesn't want _this_ —there's a fire blazing in his blood, a ravaging hunger for _something_ more than a hand on his cock. He snares Aomine’s shirt, pulls him down and kisses him, bites his lip and sucks his tongue—and somehow, someway manages to say—“Get inside. In me. Fucking _hurry_ , Aomine.”

Aomine usually doesn’t need to be told twice but he has that _look_ on his face, like he’s torn between being aroused and conflicted, dark blue eyes trying to read into what he just said. (If it was months ago, back when it _wasn’t_ anything, back when they flirted with each other like it was a joke and had casual night flings only because there was no one else around to vent on, Aomine wouldn’t be making that face.)

And it’s only when Kagami grabs his wrist, nails digging into his skin, and hoarsely whispers— _”Just this once—don’t say anything weird.”_ does Aomine scoff, with a tight smile.

“Selfish cat.”

Kagami’s spine tenses when slick fingers (coated with those travel-sized packets of lube. _Of course,_ Aomine carries them around) travel up his thigh, he can’t help but tremble. His gut clenches with something like anxiety, and that makes no sense to him—it’s just Aomine.

It's just sex.

(Kagami’s done it before many times—hard, rough, and fast, with punishing bites and hair fisted tightly between fingers, bruising hickies and purple skin peppering him for the next few days—with whoever he can get his hands on when he’s  drunk on adrenaline or high-classed wine.

It’s only sex, after all.

But with Aomine, it’s different. There’s been a change since that night and Kagami _hates_ it—)

Kagami bites back a groan when a finger presses past the tight ring of muscles and sinks deeper; it eases some of the ache in his belly, but it’s not enough. He needs more stimulation—

Aomine crooks his finger. It slides against the bundle of nerves, and a flare of pleasure has Kagami keen with surprise, mouth hanging open and noises— _weak, pathetic, and needy_ —escape breathlessly from it.

(Kagami also hates how Aomine is the only one who, among all the people he's gone to bed with, could make him like this, completely wrought out and under his mercy with just his mouth and hand.)

The second finger makes him burn, and Kagami's skin is flushed red from how he’s rutting back, desperate. The third finger reduces him into a  mess, and he arches with a strained gasp when Aomine teases a hand around his weeping cock, palms the head, and pulls—his toes curls and Kagami's eyes slide shut. 

Hot air scalds down Kagami’s throat, his lips quiver, “Fuck, fuck, Aomine, god, hurry up—”

(Things would’ve been _fine_ if Aomine didn’t open his stupid mouth and—)

There’s a pause and the fingers withdraw.

“Yeah.”

Kagami expects it to be rough, like the first time when they fucked—angry and spitting curses at each other while tearing clothes off and tearing at each other’s throats with sharp teeth—but that’s not what happens.

Aomine spreads Kagami's thighs open, and he’s being careful where he places his hands like Kagami’s going to snap in half if he holds him wrong.

(He’s not some fragile G-cup woman that Aomine fancies when he reads his porn magazines, all soft curves and lusty moans; Kagami is hard edges, sinewy muscles wrapped around battered and repaired bones, with crude words and a nasty temper—so.

  
Kagami doesn't get why. Why _him_?)

It feels like gravity crushes his lungs when Aomine _shoves_ into him and pushes him deeper into the velvet; Kagami’s so full, twitching to accommodate his size and heat.

Aomine pets him, hands sliding around his hips, down to the inside of his thighs, pushing his thighs wider, so he can take more—it’s too much, too good, _enough-_

It doesn’t hurt like it’s supposed to. (And that alarms him because it’s _different_ , but Kagami _needs_ this, the itch buzzing under his skin needs to be scratched, the hunger, sated.)

The grip on his hips and thighs hurt like hell though, and Kagami twitches when Aomine rolls his hips shallowly,  just a bit to test the angle.

(Aomine doesn’t really need to do that, he’s mapped out Kagami’s body with fingers and tongue. He knows _exactly_ where Kagami likes to be fucked and how. And the familiarity is _weird_ , it's  _not supposed to be_ because whatever it is between them was only supposed to be another fling, not anything else.)

It doesn’t hurt, instead it feels good, _too good_ when Aomine has his cock sheathed inside him, pulling out and slamming back in, hard and fast into his prostrate over and over and over again—

Kagami grabs onto Aomine’s back, nails digging in and scraping along his taut skin. His swollen lips part and wet noises, half-formed curses tumble out— “Ah, _ah—_ ”

Wetness stain his eyelids and when Kagami chokes back a moan and squeezes his eyes shut,  it slides down his cheek. Aomine’s jerking him off, quick little pulls in rhythm with his thrusts, it feels good, so good—

“Kagami—I like watching you moan when I fuck you like this,” Aomine starts, breathing over him and smelling like mint. His thrusts are deep and hard—slick and good. “I like taking you apart until you’re moaning like a bitch in heat—”

There’s a hammering pulse and coiling heat in his abdomen and Kagami would have told him to shut up if his mind didn't draw a blank and his mouth slacken in the pleasure. Aomine is teasing his cock with the pad of his thumb, sliding into him deeper and harder than what Kagami’s usually comfortable with and with a faster, sloppier pace that has Kagami canting his hips and mewling in pleasure because it’s all too much, he’s _close_ , and Aomine’s not relenting—

Then, Aomine grips his cock tightly at it's base, and the pressure swells, and Kagami's eyes widens because he  _can’t—_ “You fucking _asshole_ —”

Aomine doesn’t say anything but grins, sweat beading on his forehead and rolling down his temple.

“Let me come—” Kagami gasps, feeling his body clamp down on Aomine’s cock (engorged and sliding in and out, so deep and fast, so hard); he claws blindly for Aomine’s arms, grabbing the wrist of the hand around his cock. He sinks nails into Aomine's skin, squeezing hard until he drew blood.

“Aomine, I’m—” Kagami feels each unrelenting thrust to his bones, and the friction is red and raw, building an ache between his legs. He chokes on a sob, voice cracked and splitting in two, he’s so fucking _close—_ ”Let go, fucker, let me come— _please_ , I need to—”

Aomine leans over him, teeth hard against the side of his neck, and bites into a patch of salty skin. Kagami sees stars then, when Aomine makes a low groan in the back of his throat, and whispers against his lips,  “I also like it when you beg, so fucking cute.”

“Fuck you—” Kagami growls, before he keens, back arching away to ease the swelling pressure in his gut, and it’s starting to _hurt._ _“Ah, ah—”_

“It’s okay. Just hold on,” he whispers. Aomine kisses him, it’s disgusting, like sugar—thorough and lingering like it’s supposed to be something meaningful. It’s petal soft and—Kagami doesn’t know why, but he presses back, mouth open, letting Aomine nibble and tug at his lower lip.

(It’s the spark that scares him; the unfamiliar clench in his stomach elicited from something so small like a kiss, and the enveloping thirst to keep Aomine here, for himself, all for himself— Kagami finds this _terrifying_.)

He’s had enough. Pleasure borders on sweet pain, searing up his overstimulated nerves, and rages up his spine, between his legs, and to the tips of his toes; his skin thrums in warmth as he breathes for air, eyes shutting and spilling tears.

Aomine’s mouth is hot and sloppy against his throat, teeth clashing and lips misplaced on his jaw, with hands caressing his sides. It’s when Aomine bites down on his neck, right under his ear, that the pressure on his cock is released.

White spots fleck into Kagami’s vision, and the rough friction and stinging pain pushes him over the edge—he gasps, mouth hung on on a silent scream as he comes, tightening around the girth of Aomine’s thick cock, shivering as waves of heat and pleasure course down his spine and ripples along his skin.

Aomine’s come fills him, hot and sticky. Kagami basks in the aftermath, collapsing limply back onto the couch, chest heaving as Aomine shifts, pulling out of him, dragging with him a bit of his semen, leaving Kagami feeling painfully bare.

“You all right?”

Kagami closes his eyes, breath labored and skin warmed over with the occasional twitch of his orgasm; he doesn’t feel the tingle of the mixed drug in his veins anymore, and he should feel relieved, but.

Aomine drifts a hand on his cheek, thumbing at the tears (Kagami can’t believe he _cried.)_

“You’re all right,” Aomine says again, with a teasing quirk in his lips. The way he said it was warm, a reassurance, just as warm and gentle as the hand on his cheek. 

Kagami unconsciously turns away from the touch. “...yeah...thanks.”

(For what? For just being conveniently there when his pupils and common sense were both blown thanks to the drug he was fed?

Kagami should be feeling disgusted with himself because he had adamantly said _never again_  a few months ago, but he isn’t. If anything, he feels...weird, a strange pain in his chest. He’s not sure what to make of it.)

Aomine’s breath is on his face, and his fingers drift down Kagami’s jaw. “Hey, Kagami, I like—”

His eyes widen.

“No, no, _no_ ,” Kagami growls, swatting Aomine away and throwing his arms over his eyes. “Don’t—don’t you dare start that shit again, Ahomine—”

Aomine sighs, annoyed. “Just hear me out—”

“Fucking get off. There's nothing to say—thanks for the sex, I'm fine now, so _go away_ —” There’s no strength in Kagami’s arms, and Aomine catches them and pushes them away.  Kagami glares at him. There’s a weird look on Aomine’s face— a strained smile, not the sly, suave ones he usually wears for his female targets.

It’s weird.

(It’s different and Kagami _hates_ it; because this isn't the first time he's wondered what other people Aomine’s kissed like this, pleasured like this, until they’re a shaking, sobbing mess before he whispers in their ear—)

“I like the way you talk; it's crude and so... _American_ , but fuck, it's hot. I like your stupid face. Even your fucking, weird eyebrows—”

(—something sort of like that, but ten times more eloquent since they _are_ trained to sweet talk their targets to their death. But _this_ is raw honesty, and it’s disgusting because both of them are full of shit and lies, and Aomine chooses honesty _now_ of all times _._ )

“Aomine,” he warns, breath punched out from his lungs. Kagami wants to tear his eyes away but Aomine’s face is just—Kagami’s breath comes out as a hoarse whisper.  “Don’t—...do this to me. I don't want to hear that again.”

Something flutters in his chest when Aomine’s scowl softens,“Taiga, I'm not kidding—”

_“Shut up.”_

“I like you—” And Aomine brings Kagami’s hand to his lips, kissing each knuckle softly like a _fucking romantic sleaze_ — “Maybe, I think, I love—”

“Stop—”

He punches him, right in the face and Kagami’s glad that a good portion of his strength had returned for that. Aomine’s cheek blooms a scarlet red, his expression nearly unreadable.

He slowly works his jaw, hearing it click before looking at Kagami again. His lips draw into a thin line, and he visibly swallows, eyebrows drawing tight. “Do you seriously hate hearing it from me that much?”

 _Don’t look like you’re the fucking victim, all right?_ Kagami wants to hiss, but his voice is caught in his throat, especially with the way Aomine’s _looking_ at him—like a mix of anger, resigned defeat, and that hint of disgusting affection.

“That time...was a mistake, all right?” Kagami says, sitting up. His stomach aches and there’s a tremble in his voice. “It’s supposed to be a sex thing—not...not whatever the hell you’re trying to make it be. I like fucking you, I don’t fucking _like_ you—okay? You got that?”

Aomine chews the inside of his cheek, half-conflicted, but almost thoughtful. He grabs Kagami’s chin, pinching it between his thumb and index. ”Anyone ever tell you, you’re shit at lying?”

“So what?” Kagami feels heat climbing up his neck and reaching the edges of his ears. He turns his head away. "You think it's going to play out like some fairy tale happy ending where you say some romantic shit and I'll be all over you—go find yourself a woman for that." 

"Not the same," Aomine grumbles, taking Kagami by the wrist, and he rubs the pad of his thumb over his vein. (Kagami doesn't pull away.) He looks at him with the same look. "It has to be you. And things will work—" 

“You're fucking _hilarious_ ," Kagami spits, a grin on his face even when he isn't smiling. "Do you ever think how it’s going to turn out? You’re the fucking yakuza, I’m a cop. One of us is going to end up dead once this blows over; either your boss orders a hit on me, or the cops milk you dry and shoot you once you’re useless—”

The heat in his face flares up, and suddenly he can’t breathe. Aomine’s figure goes blurry around the edges. He swallows thickly and tries to laugh at himself—will away the water in his eyes. His voice still shakes. “Ugh, fuck..so annoying. I don't know what the hell you want from me.”

Aomine doesn't say anything, but slips his hand behind Kagami’s head. He carefully leans forward to kiss him, slow and hesitant, Kagami heaves a shuddering sigh (but doesn't turn away.) “So, don't you fucking _dare_  say it'll be fine because I can't give you what you want and—hell, it's irritating when I think about it—”

Aomine kisses him again, lips sweet like it’s coated with honey. (And Kagami—kisses back.) 

“Then stop thinking."

**Author's Note:**

> Aaaa okay, I'm done. I have no clue where it was going. I'm sorry for that. I'm really embarrassed now haha ^q^;;;/ Let me go bury myself in a blanket. 
> 
> Hope you enjoyed it!!!
> 
> edit: oops ran into a mistake orz;;;


End file.
